


North islands' Elder Gods

by hisaribi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, BAMF Stiles, Full Shift Werewolves, Gen, Hellhound Jordan Parrish, Loosely Based on Mythology, Pagan Gods, Religious Conflict, child!stiles, void!Stiles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 09:59:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13211376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hisaribi/pseuds/hisaribi
Summary: The one where Stiles it too young for that shitstorm, Peter is too tired to deal with priests’ stupidity, oh, and don’t forget the invasion of dark creatures.





	North islands' Elder Gods

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was bera-read by amazing [yesterday](http://archiveofourown.org/users/yesterday)  
> For some reason all my works lately are written in English, don't ask me why, IDK. well there will be a lot of russian in March, or when i deside to repost there the best my works, but probably i'm too lazy, so yeah  
> it's like 14 hours before 2018 is here, so consider this as a gift? idk to whome, but yeah  
> how to tag, i'll add tags as story goes, but you can be sure it'll stay mostly pg, and even if i'll chose to add raiting, it will be done only with gore  
> attention for random russian in the middle of the text, translation is provided

  
Thirteenth spring of Stiles’ life was a nightmare. Not only it was cold – it was always cold on the northeast islands near the border of the lands – and dark – nothing new either – but it felt like the border of the other side moved closer. Stiles sat on the rock, holding shepherd's crook with feathers on it’s crook. Cold wind moved fur of his clothes. It wasn’t silent, never was. Water roared beneath. Forest whispered behind. Sheeps bleated. But his mind was blank, and he knew well that this state was dangerous.

Behind him, behind the forest, people could see lands. Other lived there. Sometimes they traded furs, clothes, food, whatever. South was where life was easier and kinder. They had darker skin and thinner clothes. They were kind and more naive, if his father’s words to be trusted. Oh, and also they forgot that the Elders existed and waited for their sacrifices. Trusted their belief in one God that clearly didn’t even exist. One thing this nonexistent God did well was that they united both people, werewolves, and other creatures.

On his right, other islands. Some of them were also inhabited, but mostly they were rocks and the dead. The lands of another world began there. Spirits, magic and cold lived there. Stiles didn’t like it, he felt weird visiting there. He was being watched, but could never see who was there. Whispers kept following him everywhere even since. His mother left for this place and never came back, just like some other villagers. The people who survived there were the closest to the Elders. That’s why some of them forgot that they used to be human. Stiles still was afraid of looking at his own reflection.

On his left endless sea stretched. It was cold, dangerous and lifeless on the surface. People who went there never came back. They were lost to ice, spirits’ roads and creatures that lived beneath. There wasn’t much to know and tell about the Waters.

In front of him was what worried him the most. Endless land of white ice and black sea. Their shaman said there wasn't much to worry about, and that this land didn't hold any important. But Stiles didn't trust her. Just like his father. Because he saw it clearly, especially now, when his mind was free of destruction.

The big black shadow inside ices. It moved, roamed around in search of way out. It wasn’t what Elders did. He felt them sleep underneath. That creature, whatever it was, felt different. Stiles squeezed the crook. It came closer than before. And now he felt the cold hands of the dead on his back. Freezing chill of air at his skin made him shiver. They were whispering something, but Stiles knew better than to try to listen to them.

Loud barking made Stiles jolt and look toward his dog. It was barking at something in the water and Stiles looked down, coming back to the living world. He saw an unconscious man on the beach near rocks. The man was really lucky he wasn’t thrown on the rocks. Actually, Stiles wasn’t sure the man was alive, he wore only torn apart pants, and the sea was cold.

“Protect,” Stiles said and waved the crook toward sheep. The dog, a big creature that looked more like a wolf and could easily break Stiles in half, roared a little, but didn’t protest. Stiles jumped from the rock and ran toward the woods, along with inhuman paths to the beach.

The run wasn’t long, and he didn’t fall, but only upon reaching the destination point Stiles questioned his actions. The man was bigger, like, nothing new, he was an adult, but still. The closer Stiles got, the better he saw that the man wasn’t completely human. Pointed ears, sharp claws and teeth, and it seemed that he had a little more fur on his face than hair.

Underneath, the sea was even louder, but Stiles wasn’t worried about it. He silently and cautiously approached the man and stood in front of him. The distance was just enough for him to reach with the crook. Stiles breathed deeply and reached out. He got enough to know that the man in front was a werewolf, and it’s not like Stiles could defend himself against the attack. But his gut instinct told him there was no danger, so he kept going. When simple poking on his back did nothing, Stiles licked his lips and moved the crook higher so the feathers could touch the face of stranger. He had to bite a laugh.

Stiles accidentally let go of the crook and hit the man in the face. This woke him into action. He launched himself at Stiles with all his strength, blue eyes, sharp teeth and all. Stiles hit the pebbles on the beach pretty hard, and Stiles was happy that he wore cloth with warm hood and a lot of fur. The crook flew away, and it’s not like Stiles could really use it, now when his hands were free. He felt his heart beat in his throat, and knew he smelled of fear, even if he didn’t have any reason to be scared. It seemed that the man came to his senses a little, because he didn’t kill Stiles right away. He could call it a win.

“Hey, big guy, good morning,” Stiles spoke the language people of the South used. Werewolves of the North wore tattoos, this man’s body was clear of any signs of the tribes or packs. Cue, he was from the land. The man sniffed the air, then sniffed Stiles’ neck, and that was awkward. Like, the level of awkward that would make his father shoot the man if he only got to know.

“Hey, please, let me go,” The man looked up, and he was mostly human now. Stiles knew the meaning behind the blue eyes, but he felt safer now that the man had his teeth away from his neck.

“I beg your pardon,” Stiles rolled his eyes. The man could speak at least. He completely moved away and stretched his hand to help Stiles sit. The man looked him over again and snorted, like he got that he overreacted. Stiles frowned and cursed using North dialect. The man looked a little bit surprised, but just a little. His face became more curious. “So, we got off on the wrong foot.” His voice was pleasant, now that he wasn’t roaring in Stiles’ face. He stretched his hand. “My name is Peter. My ship crashed and I’m just happy that I ended up in the land of a living.”

Stiles looked a little bit confused on the stretched hand, than up at Peter. He used words that were familiar for North tribes, but people on the land never agreed to tell something like that. Peter held his hand, but didn’t tell what to do, like it was obvious thing. And that was rude, because for him this gesture was new, but whatever. Stiles stood up, feeling his back and left hand hurt. He didn’t feel blood anywhere, but it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t have bruises all over. When he looked back at Peter, he also stood and held Stiles’ crook out to him. He was tall, almost as tall as Stiles’ father, but looked younger.

“I’m Stiles.” He took his crook and didn’t look up. Speaking looking at the chest wasn’t that bad. “Our village not far away.” He waved in general direction of a forest and moved there. Peter went behind. “Sorry, words hard.” He shrugged. His mother spoke South language, but he didn’t actually use it for almost five winters.

“Don’t worry, it’s admirable of you to speak it at any level,” and Stiles got what Peter meant, but didn’t know some words. He smiled a little and went farther, then turned, following the sun. They didn’t have much time.

“Sheeps. I left with the dog. Before village, need to...” Stiles trailed off, and Peter nodded.

***

They went silently for some time. Peter sniffed around, but didn’t do anything weird anymore. Stiles didn’t talk, and Peter kept silent. At some point the kid began to babble, but he didn’t use either South or what he thought was North. Just what his tribe spoke, probably. Peter tried to listen to him, but he still didn’t say anything. When they came back to clearing, the dog roared and his eyes shone yellow. Peter was even more surprised, especially when Stiles moved toward and began speaking in hushed voice. Peter thoughtfully watched Stiles and the dog.

“Can he turn human?” Peter asked. Stiles nodded.

“Safety,” he only said and moved to direct the sheep that weren’t even a little bit scared of a new werewolf. Peter sniffed one more time, and Stiles rolled his eyes, making eye contact with the dog, who mirrored this move. Stiles only glanced at Peter, before looking back at the ice. Peter looked there too, but he didn’t see what made Stiles so tense. He followed him in the woods, because it’s not like he had any choice.

Plus, the kid was nice enough not to comment all the healing burns on his left side. And if he was so confident leading him to the village, it’s Peter who should be worried. The dog didn’t even look at him, but his turned ear was an obvious sign that he didn’t trust him even a little.  
The forest smelled of magic and screamed of Elder religions. Even the way Stiles moved made Peter uncomfortable in the way he didn’t know how to express. It was natural, not really graceful, but somehow soundless. It was like he was a ghost and Peter would’ve even believed it, if he hadn’t sniffed him. Spirits were cold, they smelled of nothing but death. Stiles had this scent of apples, rain and sheeps. He was warm and scared.

And while they were walking Peter felt more and more like he wouldn’t make it out without the help of anyone. The village came into view before sunset, and it felt weird. He sincerely expected to see small shacks somewhere on the island. He didn’t know what to think of this big town with solid houses and the port. He looked one more time at Stiles, and now the fact that the kid spoke his language made sense.

“The dog will take care of sheep. We go to my father,” Stiles gave the crook to the dog and waved his hands, as if prompting Peter move with him. “He’s the chief,” one more twist Peter certainly didn’t expect. He even stopped moving and looked at the lanky kid once again. He saw some hints, but not that much. Something about the way he hold himself around people, and he wore a little better clothes than others kids they saw on the way.

People were busy, just like in any coastal town. Peter had a feeling that Stiles was wrong about calling this place a village, but it was ok, he was a kid and probably didn’t use the language that often.

Peter felt almost as overwhelmed as he felt in the capital. People, werewolves, druids and other creatures gathered there. It was surprising to find such a busy port so far away from his own lands. He looked at Stiles, who greeted and said at least few words to any person he walked by. Some of them spared him a quick look, others just pushed past him.

Peter didn’t speak North, but he knew enough to understand when the word “werewolf” was used. It should make him uncomfortable, but in this place he felt like he can not be afraid of hunters. He always loved far away lands more, because they were more open, despite all “civilized nations” calling them barbaric.

Peter didn’t like that Stiles wasn’t close. The kid was fast and navigated busy streets with ease. Every time Peter thought he lost Stiles, he appeared nearby almost from the thin air. Sometimes he had something in his hands, he even gave Peter food once – a cupcake with meat. It was still hot, but didn’t burn. And it was free, or Stiles would make him pay for it later.

They reached the main square. Stiles’ attention was stolen by the man with black skin in a priest’s habit standing on the barrel in the middle. Some people gathered around, and most of them smelled of annoyance. Stiles listened for a few seconds and Peter almost felt rage, that made his eyes glow. Some other werewolves began looking around. They relaxed a little when saw Stiles. Peter was ready to swear, that kid’s hair moved not because of the wind. He lifted a rock from the ground and threw it right at the priest’s head.

The blow wasn’t strong enough for man to fall, but hit him hard. He stopped speaking, and whole square fell silent. Eyes watching both priest and Stiles.

“Твой бог ничего не значит в этих землях!” Stiles screamed louder than it was possible for a kid. Peter didn’t understand words, but felt with his bones, hate and rage. Everyone stepped back, letting Stiles come closer. “Какого лешего никто его не выгнал?” He looked around and people averted their eyes. Some werewolves, that still had shining eyes, went to priest and yanked him down.

“Ты гневишь Господа, дитя!” The priest looked scared, and unsure, and Peter knew why. The kid that looked small few minutes ago now felt like he took all the space, all sounds and voices went void. His whole clothes moved like he was under water, but his whole body went still.

“Когда боги гневаются, они уничтожают,” Stiles’ voice sounded almost soft and sweet. He moved closer in one swift move and werewolves yanked the priest down to Stiles’ face level.

“Demon!” the priest screamed and turned, his hand somehow finding a flask – Peter knew that there was holy water, it had a distinct smell – and poured it right in the Stiles’ face. The kid didn’t even move, just breathed out loudly. Sounds didn’t go back, like the whole square existed in void, and the priest went silent. Peter wasn’t sure he heard any heartbeats or anything, the feeling was worse than when he was underwater.

“Уплывай отсюда на ближайшем корабле, священник. Твоего бога здесь нет,” just as Stiles fell silent, a whole cacophony of sounds overtook the square. When Peter blinked he saw the annoyed kid, speaking with the people who had listened to priest. The priest was still there, and he looked shaken. Peter heard him praying, and almost rolled his eyes.

“Peter!” Stiles was near him again, this time he was looking at his face. His hair was wet and he smelled of nothing. And Peter didn’t even know that nothingness had a scent. “Sorry ‘bout...” He waved in the general direction of the priest. Peter nodded. He was left a little speechless and high on prenatural rage, and he still felt his eyes glowing. He also didn’t trust himself to speak without the growl. 

“Ok. My dad isn’t there, and won’t be for some time, but Parish was nice enough to allow you borrow his clothes and all.” Stiles waved toward a young man in his early twenties. He looked kind, but Peter felt the scent of fire. And he saw how Parrish stood almost protectively near Stiles. “Hope you are ok, because Parrish isn’t a werewolf.”

“Yes, that’s ok, thank you very much.” Stiles smiled widely and, it seemed, translated his words.

When Peter followed Parrish and Stiles, the absence of fear from people around made him wonder, like it was completely natural of Stiles to make all the noise disappear and move like a predator. Probably, it was.

And now he wasn’t sure that he was really happy to stay alive.  


**Author's Note:**

> translation of Stiles and priest’s dialogue:  
> Stiles: “Your god means nothing in this lands!” – “Why the hell nobody made him leave?” (he didn’t use “hell” but the meaning is such)  
> Priest: “You anger the God, child!”  
> Stiles: “When Gods are angry, they destroy.”  
> Priest: “Бес нечистый!”  
> Stiles: “Get out from our lands, priest. Your god has no power here.”  
> _____  
> Guess who is the priest, and who is a shaman if that's what's going on. oh, and the dog isn't Scott! i need to add him, and probably will, but we'll see  
> I wanted to write it small and nice, like Peter almost eats Stiles and desides to follow him, but them i added the conflict between religions and i had no power there anymore  
> thank you for reading! not sure when will upload the next chapter, but will do it someday


End file.
